Seven Unlived Stories for Beth March
by Elisabeth Harker
Summary: What if Jo had gotten scarlet fever instead of Beth? Seven stories of Beth's life, and Jo's decline. Jo/Laurie Beth/Laurie AU. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Notes: I'm writing these for the livejournal community 5_nevers. The idea of the community is to take a character, and write five short AUs about things that never happened to them. I'm choosing Beth, because _a lot _of things never happened to her, what with her short lifespan and all. Anyway, please let me know what you think!

:;:;:

Plumfield seemed a place filled with danger to shy little Beth. For one thing, there was that disagreeable parrot who swore, squawked, and flopped around without the slightest warning or provocation. For another, the house was so very big, with long dark hallways, locked rooms, and vast dust scented parlors. Aunt March herself was not precisely frightening, being a relative that Beth had known since infancy, but the old woman did not understand Beth's quiet nature… Nor, it seemed, did she comprehend why chattering on about Father's foolishness for enlisting in the army and becoming injured should make Beth retreat ever further into herself.

Amy complained. She had thrown such a tantrum at the prospect of several weeks in Aunt March's care that Laurie had had to bribe her with daily visits in order to make her come along. Amy read to Aunt March, befriended the maid, and spent Laurie's visits riding, playing, and generally hanging upon the young man.

Beth did none of these things. She wrote letters to Jo, who was sick in bed, with the fever that Beth could not but think was meant to be hers. She had, after all, been the one to ask Jo to attend to the Hummels in her stead. If only she had been braver, and stronger, and gone herself… but then she wasn't any of those things. Beth began to think for the first time that she was nice, but she was nothing of consequence, and that she needed to become better if she wanted to be deserving of life and family.

It was curious to think thus. Nothing had ever troubled Beth before, or disturbed her tranquility.

She wrote letters to Jo, and Jo did not write back.

One day, she noticed that Laurie looked more distraught than usual, after one of his walks with Amy.

"What is it?" Beth asked, as he stopped to say his goodbyes, as he never neglected to do.

"All I can say," he said, with false cheeriness, "Is that you had better not choose today to write down your last wishes. It's very well to have that sort of thing over and done with in good time, but I'd much rather believe that none of us are ever going to die. What do you say to me calling you Elizabeth the Invincible?"

He finished off his little speech with a grand gesture which would have seemed much grander had there not been dark circles under his eyes.

"I can try to be that if you want," said Beth, looking down, for it did not seem right to examine his grief as she felt inclined to do. "But tell me, who is writing out their last wishes? Jo isn't that bad, is she?"

"I'm afraid so," said Laurie, who deepened his voice as if to sound especially manly just then, but only succeeded in sounding choked. "And wouldn't you know, Amy's gotten it into her head to do it as well. You'd think she knew. She doesn't, of course."

Beth frowned, imagining Jo feverish and weak, and losing hope. It didn't fit very well with her idea of her sister.

"Never you mind," Laurie said, placing a gentle hand on Beth's shoulder. "Meg is a capital nurse, and I've got something up my sleeve to make sure everything works out in time."

"Oh, do you?" Beth asked, brightening.

"Yes, but it's our secret, and I'll thank you not to ask for details. Just give over your letter, and I'll read it to Jo myself when I get back."

Beth handed him the letter, saying, "I'm sure whatever you're thinking it will be splendid, and Jo _will_ get well, won't she?"

"I hope so," Laurie said.

Laurie left then, and for some hours, Beth was content, trusting in God and those who were working for Jo's sake.

Then she began to wonder what exactly Laurie's plan was, and scold herself for not asking. Jo would never have not asked. She would have fought, pried, gotten it out of him somehow, and become a part of it. Beth had sometimes imagined the world as a river or an ocean with paths and tides that carried her this way and that as if she were nothing more than a leaf. She was not sure that she liked it, but then she could not imagine herself any other way than how she was.

Marmee returned home that night, for Laurie had gone behind Hannah's back and written her. Under mother's care Jo got well, for how could she not with her nearby? Beth was quiet, and did all she could for her sister when at last she was allowed home, and never let on that she was anything more than the mouse of the family. After all, she still did not know what else she could be.

Father came, and Christmas came, and Jo was soon writing theatricals and romping with Laurie as if nothing had happened. Beth, however, had changed.


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: I might be slow to update this and Braver Than We Are for the remainder of the summer. I start wandering tomorrow, and I don't know what net access will be like.

… … …

Months passed, and winter faded into a tentative spring. The gentle sunshine and happy birdsong outside filled all of the March girls with a special sort of energy and industry, which they each expressed in their different ways. Amy spent long afternoons in the garden, either pruning her little rose arch, or painting the natural scenes that unfolded before her. Meg smiled on her way to work each morning, and declared on the day that she first took out her spring and summer dresses that seeing them after so many months was almost like getting a new wardrobe. Jo wrote more than ever, and seemed quite taken by ambition, in a way that occasionally worried those around her.

Beth, for her part, poured her energy into the home, finding that dustpans and sponges were much more inviting now than they were during dreary winter days. She was busily dusting Amy's little vanity, when the sight of herself in the mirror gave her pause.

Now, Beth was not one to preen as the other girls sometimes did. Even Jo, who scorned fashion, and could not stay consistently neat and proper even when she tried, was more self-aware in this respect than Beth. Thus, it was a very strange thing indeed for Beth to put down her duster, and sit down for a moment before the vanity.

Though Beth could not yet begin to think of herself as a young woman, it struck her just then that she did not look like a child either. She was getting taller, and though her face was still round and rosy, it was not that of a little girl. She wondered what kind of a picture she made when she played with her cats, or whispered secrets to her dolls, as she still often did.

Beth still did not like to go out and meet new people. It was easy enough to go to run errands or go with her mother to bring food and well-wishes to poor families, but to speak to people when she did not know the purpose of what she was saying? Impossible. Perhaps if she had a friend like Jo had in Laurie, she would be different. Beth blushed at the thought, and turned from the mirror at once, not wanting to acknowledge how the heat rose in her cheeks, or to think of how she might one day need to make her way in a world filled with all kinds of people.


	3. Chapter 3

"You really should take a break from your writing once and awhile, or have you forgotten your boy?"

Beth stood just outside the garret door, holding the cup of tea that she had made especially to bring up to Jo, for she had been prone to coughing as of late, and Beth wanted desperately to believe that there was something she could do to help.

Laurie's voice was strained, and Beth was not sure whether or not she ought to open the door. On one hand, she knew that it was wrong to listen in on others' conversations. On the other, it sounded to her as if Laurie might soon tell Jo some things which she very much needed to hear, and she was eager to know if Jo would take his advice.

"I'd be hard pressed to forget you," Jo snapped back. "Since you don't leave me a moment's peace."

"I suppose you're right," Laurie replied. "With the exception of the twenty-two hours a day or so that I'm not over at your house, that is."

"You don't absolutely have to come here every day, you know."

Beth frowned, feeling bad for Laurie. Jo had not even been speaking much to her lately, though she'd never gone so far as to try and send her away.

Silence, and then footsteps and a weary sigh from Jo.

"Don't look at me like that, Teddy."

"How exactly would you like me to look at you, then? I don't know what to think when you're like this. Only a month ago…"

"Laurie…"

Beth thought she heard a note of warning in Jo's voice, but from the way she went on afterwards, Beth was not sure.

"Look, I'm working on a new novel. I've finished forty pages today. Forty! And that's not counting the ones that I had to throw away and rewrite."

"I shouldn't wonder. The candles were burning in this room all night if I'm not mistaken. Did you get any sleep at all?"

"I slept at my desk."

Beth waited, wishing that Laurie would tell Jo about the dark circles under her eyes, or warn her against burning herself out.

"That can't be comfortable," Laurie said, all too cheerfully. "Bent on suffering for your art, Jo?"

"Might as well get used to it. Far as I can tell, about half of all writers have a notoriously difficult time of it."

"I hope you plan on belonging to the half that cheerful and content as well as prolific."

"You know I do."

Jo laughed at something, and though Beth could not tell what, she thought it as good a time as any to open the door and find out.

Laurie's lips were on Jo's temple in a way that was far from proper, and from the way Laurie's arms circled around her, Beth wondered if he might have already kissed her cheek, or her neck, or even her lips as well. Laurie straightened up at once, and Jo spilled her ink in her haste to pick up her pen and look busy.

"Oh!" Said Beth, putting down her tea, and rushing over to help clean up, lest the mess somehow get all over the precious pages of Jo's story.

"It's fine now, Bethy," Jo said. Her eyes searched Beth's as if wondering how much she had seen, and what she meant to do about it.

Without thinking, Beth smiled. Now that she was getting over her surprise at it, a little kiss did not seem like such a terrible thing, especially between Laurie and Jo, who had always been so dear to each other. In fact, Beth was surprised by just how much she liked it.

… … … …

Beth could not sleep that night. Jo's bed was empty again. If Jo had been snoring loudly besides her (as she sometimes did, much to her embarrassment), Beth would not have been disturbed by it. The absolute silence of the room, however, was difficult to deal with.

Softly, so as not to disturb Meg or Amy, Beth made her way up to the garret. Jo was not writing, but sitting with her chin resting against the desk, her grey eyes wide. Wordlessly, Beth pulled up a stool and sat besides Jo. Things were often like this between the two of them - there was a closeness and communion in their shared silences that even the rest of the family could not be a part of. The problem, this time, was that Jo was not entirely silent; there was a slight rattle each time she took a breath which Beth would not have heard if all else had not been still, but which she could not ignore now. Beth touched Jo's cheek, noting with dismay how hot it was.

"Jo…" She started.

"I know. It's just… I can't do this again right now."

Beth swallowed, not knowing what to say. She never did, and though she knew she was with the one person who understood that better than anyone else, she still wished she could find the words to make things better, as Jo so often did for her.

She tugged on Jo's sleeve, and they went downstairs together.

"Do you want some water?" Beth whispered. "Should I wake Marmee?"

"No, don't do that." Jo whispered back. Much to Beth's relief, she already sounded more like herself, and not despondent as she had only minutes before. "It's only because I'm up so late. A good night's rest will set everything right."

Beth still had a habit of believing everything that Jo told her, for her sister had a way of speaking as if she could make anything happen through sheer will. Nonetheless, Beth did not lay down in her own bed, but slid under the covers besides Jo, some instinct telling her that she should stay close to her this night.

"You must think I was carrying on terribly with Laurie today," Jo said, close to Beth's ear, just when Beth had thought her asleep.

"He was the one who kissed you," Beth said, as if that made all the difference. Unwittingly, she wondered what it must have felt like to be kissed by Laurie, but told herself that she had no right to ask anything more on the topic than Jo freely told her. Especially not tonight, with Jo ill.

"Today," Jo pointed out wryly. "But I'm the one who started it the first time."

"What?" Beth asked, not very cleverly. 'Why' would have been a better question, and at any rate, it was the one that Jo chose to answer.

"It was a month ago, and very stupid of me. I've been feeling lately as if I must do everything I could possibly want very quickly, and all at once. And I don't suppose it and some of the things I told him _are_ something I can go back on. Only, I wish I'd thought it through. It's not like a story, where I can go back and rewrite anything that doesn't come out exactly right."

"Do you wish life was? Like a story I mean."

"Yes."

"So do I," Beth said, thinking of how she became taller and rosier each day though she'd done nothing to deserve it, while Jo loved, planned, and wrote page after page even as she seemed to be fading away.

Beth blinked hard, scolding herself inwardly for this sudden fit of melancholy. Of course Jo would never allow herself to fade.

"Is something wrong?" Jo asked.

"No. I was only thinking about the novel you're writing. Do you think it will be finished soon?"

"It should be, yes."

…. … …

Beth awoke some hours later, to find a very concerned Marmee leaning over her and Jo, whose fever had risen in the night.

It was not so bad as her first illness had been. The doctor said that she had a lung infection, and would surely recover after some rest. Many warnings were given over the state of Jo's health, and about what she must do if she hoped to maintain it. Beth overheard one doctor call Jo "delicate" which struck her as very strange, for it was the last word she would ever think of to describe Jo.

Jo's fever was intermittent for several weeks, and her cough was constant, though it never got very bad. It was a strange sort of illness, which refused to fully overtake her, but which would not go away either. The worst of it was that Jo was constantly tired. It seemed most everything she enjoyed overtaxed her, and though the doctor advised nothing but perfect peace for her, Beth thought she would go crazy if she was not allowed to become overtaxed.

"Why don't you let Laurie over to amuse you, when you are unwell?" Beth asked one day, for Jo was always quite happy to have Laurie over on her best days, but would not let him near on her worst.

"Really Beth, he's more exhausting than anything else that could come my way," was Jo's irritable reply. Beth knew that Laurie had been over every day when Jo had had scarlet fever, but perhaps kissing was the kind of thing that wrought all kinds of other significant changes.

Beth endeavored to amuse Jo herself, but she could not debate literature or make Jo laugh as Laurie did. She wanted to do something extraordinary that would make Jo happy, but what?

One day, the idea came to Beth, and though it terrified her, she resolved to give it a try.

She spent the morning locked up in the garret, reading and going through Jo's old stories and the unfinished novel, which had only been growing by a few pages a day as of late. After some rummaging, she found three short stories and a poem that she particularly liked, and set off.

That afternoon she went to the newspaper publishing house, stories in hand. It took her several tries to make herself walk into the building, and even more minutes of standing outside the door of the editors office, but she finally managed a soft knock on the door.

"Come in," Somebody barked from inside, causing Beth of all but jump out of her skin. Of course, it _would_ have to be a frightening man inside.

_Well_, thought Beth, _Laurie's Grandfather sounds gruff as well, and there isn't a kinder man in all the world_.

This was enough to give her courage, and Beth opened the door.

"They aren't mine," She stammered, completely forgetting her greeting. "They are my sister's, and we'd both be much obliged if you read them." She handed the man the stories, and was out before he could ask her any questions, never seeing the perplexed look he cast her.

She collided with Laurie on the way out the door. What was he doing there?

"You look as if you're being chased by a hungry lion Beth," he said. She saw him glance over at the dentist's sign that hung above the building, then back at her, worried. "What's gotten into you, coming here by yourself? If you have a bad time in there, you'll want someone to look after you when it's through."

"I'm not having any teeth out," Beth said.

"What _are _you doing then, if I may ask?"

Beth looked down at her feet.

"By Jove, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were up to something!" Laurie said, with such kind amusement that Beth had to smile.

"I am," said Beth, with a sudden burst of pride. "Or at least I was. I daresay I've finished my part of it, and the rest is up to luck."

"Let's walk home together, and you can tell me everything on the way."

Beth did, surprised by how much Laurie seemed to appreciate the story. By the end of the walk, she thought she could understand why Jo shared all of her plots with him.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note: Time jump a few years! :)

- - … -

Beth was knitting at the couch, when Jo sat down beside her, handing over an envelope with a look of elation on her face.

"Ninety dollars!" Beth exclaimed, quite as excited as Jo looked. "Dear me, how did you manage it?"

"That story of mine finally sold," Said Jo, who had had quite a few trials in trying to sell her book, for the publisher did not want it unless she added a romantic sub-plot for her heroine, and removed every part that she found particularly exciting or interesting.

"This is what comes of pandering to the public it seems, and I'll take it," Jo continued.

"Are you sad at all that you had to change it to suit others' taste?" Asked Beth.

"Angry, more like it. On the one hand I feel as if I've played a great prank on my readers, and come out the victor. On the other… it's difficult to explain. I had so many hopes riding on that story for such a long time. But never mind that. I'm a business woman now, and I mean to make my contribution to the family. I know that Daisy and Demi need new things, and Marmee's winter coat is quite worn through. I suppose Amy doesn't need anything, flitting about Europe, but what about you Beth? What do you want?"

"I'd very much like to make a contribution to the family myself." Beth said thoughtfully.

"You do."

Beth gave Jo an incredulous look, thinking of how she spent her days doing very little other than the daily chores. Certainly she'd never produced anything extraordinary, as Jo did.

"Truly. You stay in it, and don't fly away as Meg and Amy have. _Somebody_ has to help me uphold this household."

"I don't think I could be happy anywhere without you - and Marmee and Father of course. Meg's not very far away at least, and the children are so dear."

Jo frowned at that, in a way that troubled Beth. She was not prone to speaking her feelings as she did now, but she did not see why they should make Jo unhappy.

"I imagine your children will be even dearer, once you marry and have them," Jo said, speaking as confidently as if her engagement had already been set. In fact, she'd had a disturbing habit of doing so lately, though Beth did not even know any men to speak of, aside from Laurie. Both sisters had said more than once that they would never marry, and neither entirely believed the other. From what Beth could tell, Jo considered her a sort of domestic saint, eminently suitable for life as a wife, never once considering that Beth might not be able to find a husband. Beth, for her part, had seen too often how Laurie hung off of Jo and alluded to promises, to believe that the two would not eventually be wed.

The girls finished their conversation there, but Beth had not forgotten her desire to do something of her own for the family.

She remembered, four years ago, how she had brought Jo's stories to the publisher, and how very happy Jo had been to see her name in print for the first time two weeks after. Laurie had been calling her the "little thief" ever since, never mind that she was no longer so little, and that she had not truly stolen Jo's stories in the first place.

She had not had such a fit of boldness since then, and when next she saw Laurie, she decided it was time for it.

The two of them were alone, for Jo was sleeping, and so very tired that Beth could not dream of waking her.

"You'll be through with college in only a month," Beth said, for once beginning the conversation.

"I will. Will you be coming to watch me graduate, along with Jo?"

"Yes."

"You'll have to wrestle her out of bed that morning, for my sake."

Beth could only nod at his joke, for she was concentrating quite hard on what she wanted to say next.

"Will you ask Jo to marry you after?"

Laurie stopped and stared at her. For all that Beth was soft spoken, she could be just as blunt as Jo at times, for she was incapable of small talk, and tended to put too much effort into simply coming out with what needed to be said, to adorn her words with pleasantries.

"What do you think, Beth?" Laurie asked, suddenly all seriousness.

"I think that you should."

"Jo promised me that we would, but that was years ago, after her first illness you know. And perhaps it was only some remnant of the fever talking but…"

Jo would have interrupted Laurie here, and he trailed off as if waiting for her to do so, but Beth merely listened.

"It's what I want, more than anything else in the world," Laurie finished.

"Jo wants it too. And she loves you, so very much. I don't know why she doesn't show it better."

"I think I do," Laurie said. He was very serious now. Beth felt as if for the first time they were talking together as a man and a woman, and not a pair of children.

"Tell me."

"Perhaps you don't see things as I do, because you are always here, and I can only come when I don't have my confounded studies keeping me away, but… Jo is not well, no matter how she pretends to be. I come back each week, and see that she is thinner, and paler, less able to…"

Beth buried her face in her hands, for she knew that Laurie spoke the truth, and she did not know how to stop it from happening.


	5. Chapter 5

Notes: Some of the lines from Jo and Laurie's exchange at the second part of this chapter are taken directly from the novel, which is a clear indication that I didn't come up with them all on my own.

++…++

It came as something of a shock to Beth to find an envelope with her name upon it one morning as she was helping Jo sort through her letters from the various publishers she courted. The postmark was from England, where Amy was currently staying, but it was not Amy's handwriting, and the name most certainly wasn't hers.

"Do I know a Frank Vaughn?" Beth asked.

"Amy is getting to know a certain Fred Vaughn pretty well," Jo said. Beth could not tell if she sounded reproachful or amused, for Amy had been writing about Fred and his money in a way that Beth found more disreputable than she was willing to own.

Beth smoothed out the letter in her hand. "Frank was Fred's brother at Camp Laurence. The one with the hurt leg. I wonder why he would write to me now?"

"Open it and see."

Beth did, and soon felt the heat rise in her cheek's, so bewildered was she by the letter's contents.

"Dear Miss March," Jo started, reading over her shoulder.

"Oh please don't…"

To Beth's great surprise, Jo stopped immediately, folded the letter, and handed it back to her.

"He only writes because he thought it such a coincidence stumbling upon Amy, and when he saw her he could not help but recall 'his dear little friend from the picnic'. That's me I suppose."

"Don't be a goose, of course it's you."

"I wonder why he remembers me."

"Why shouldn't he remember a sweet, lovely girl, who was kind to him when he most needed it?" Jo said. Beth did not answer, but Jo was already up, getting some paper for her.

Beth found that she could not think of a single word to write, and thankfully Jo did not press her, but she took out the letter and read it again after they both had gone to bed for the night.

_Dear Miss March,_

_Fred and myself were very surprised to come upon your sister and aunt in London some weeks ago. You may not much remember me, but I'll tell you now that I am a man of all sorts of queer ideas and habits, not the least of which is a belief in fate. And, since Fred was lucky enough to reconnect with an old friend, I've decided to seize the opportunity to do so as well. How are things with you? Are you still fond of buffalos?_

_I should admit here and now that Fred is making me write this as a joke. He was right surprised when I recalled to him the dear little girl from the picnic, and he intends to plague me 'till I've gone through with sending her my greetings. That's not to say I wouldn't like a reply, if you see fit._

_Yours Truly,_

_Fred Vaughn _

Beth imagined Frank sitting at a table somewhere in England while his brother watched, only to break down laughing before he could finish out one paragraph. Laughing at her, Beth knew. She ought to be angry, but instead of imagining the laughter, she was imagining what an English sitting room might look like, and whether it would be very different from an American one.

At first Beth had no intention of writing back, but as the night wore on, it became more and more filled with Jo's breathing, which always seemed labored these days, and frightened Beth to no end. At length, she picked up a pen and paper to distract herself.

Beth had always seen Jo write, but lacked the creativity and initiative to do so herself. Tonight she did not try to be creative, but instead poured out any description of her home life that would keep her from feeling as if Death had taken up habitation in the little bedroom.

It turned into a very strange sort of letter, filled with tales of her cats' exploits, dozens of questions about life abroad, and an entire paragraph about the kitchen sink and the way she'd lined up the various soaps and sponges. In the end Beth sent it anyway, and was surprised to receive a prompt and equally strange reply, for with Frank's ruined leg, he had a lot of time on his hands, and was grateful for any amusement Beth could give him.

Letter after letter came and was sent out, and though they were as innocent and free of romantic notions as something a child might write, Beth kept them locked in her drawer, and only took them out when Jo was sickest, and Beth most needed the company of someone untouched by this sadness.

It was all very well, until the morning of Laurie's graduation ceremony arrived. Jo had dressed with especial care that day, and was moving about the house with something akin to her old energy, for she was intent on celebrating her friends' success, regardless of what it cost her. Beth did not immediately open the letter that Marmee handed to her, instead watching Jo with something like contentment.

Once she'd read it however, her heart went to her throat.

"Frank wants me to come to England," She blurted out at once, quite pale.

Jo sat down besides her at once, taking the letter that Beth all but threw at her.

"To see if you like each other as much in person as you do on paper," Jo said as she looked over the note in her hands. "He's willing to fund the trip! Christopher Columbus, what have you been writing this boy? I think he means to court you."

"Nothing," Beth said, burying her hot face in her arms, for she was quite upset. By the by, Beth heard Jo put down the letter, and felt her soothing hands wind their way through her hair.

"Do you think you like him?" Jo asked.

"I don't know. I like his letters very much."

"I think you should go," Jo said.

"Be careful Jo, this is something which needs more than a moment's consideration," said Marmee, who had been listening to the whole exchange. Marmee too came to sit next to Beth.

"I think perhaps we can speak of this later tonight," Marmee said, guessing that no amount of willpower would allow Beth to discuss it just then, and thankfully relenting.

"Come now, we've a graduation to attend."

Jo squeezed Beth's arm supportively, but Beth could not help but feel that Jo was scrutinizing her the entire way there in the carriage.

.,.,.,.,

"I have to stay for this confounded supper, but I'll be home later tonight. You'll come to meet me as usual girls?" Laurie said, after the ceremony had passed, and they had all had their chance to heap their praise upon him. Laurie said 'girls', but from the look he shot Beth, she suspected he only meant Jo. A nervousness filled her, very similar to what she'd felt upon reading Frank's letter that morning.

"I'll come for you Teddy, rain or shine, and march before you playing 'hail the conquering hero comes', see if I don't." Jo replied. Laurie smiled at this spirited speech, and Beth took a deep breath, telling herself there was nothing to be worried about. The entire ride home, Beth rested her head on Jo's shoulder, feeling as if her world would change irrevocably in the next few hours.

That night, Beth played at her little piano for several hours, wanting to loose herself in the music, and forget all about engagement and illness and boys from London who wanted more from her than just letters.

This was until Jo returned home. She stood in the doorway for a moment, listening to Beth play, and looking as if the world had just come to an end. Beth's fingers slipped off the piano mid-note.

"What is it?" Beth asked.

"Laurie proposed to me," Jo said grimly.

"Oh Jo, you've refused him, haven't you!" Beth said, standing at once, for the waver in Jo's voice gave her hint at once of what had happened.

Jo sat down next to Beth, and though her sister's eyes were full of tears, Beth knew she would not cry just yet. Still, it was some time before Jo could compose herself well enough to speak, and even then her voice was gruff and lifeless.

"Don't see how I could've said yes. It wouldn't have ended well for either of us, and he'll see by and by."

"You can still change your mind," Beth said, not knowing what possessed her to speak thus. "I don't think the two of you would argue as badly as you fear, and he's so very in love with you…"

And there it was, a sad laugh that turned into a sob, and Beth knew she had caused it.

x,,..,,,…x

"Jo?" Beth asked, late that night, when she knew her sister was not sleeping.

"Hmm?"

"I encouraged Laurie to ask you to marry him today," Beth blurted out.

Jo sat bolt upright in bed. Beth had often seen Jo's eyes go bright and angry, but never before had that anger been directed against her. Beth did not let herself shrink back in bed, for even if her anger could be formidable, Jo was still one of the few people in the world who Beth could not be frightened of.

"What would have possessed you to do a thing like that?" Jo asked, keeping her voice even with clear effort.

"I only thought… Jo… I've seen the two of you…"

"I suppose we do carry on, and that's my fault, and I regret it. I thought he understood, though, and you as well Beth."

"I don't understand," Beth aid softly.

Jo was quiet for a very long time, and Beth began to think she wouldn't answer at all. Then, very slowly, she began to speak.

"I think," she said haltingly. "I'm almost certain - of course I don't intend to just _let_ it happen, but I begin to think I can't stop it no matter what I do."

Beth felt a coldness settle down her back, but she knew that she must let Jo continue.

"Everyday," Jo said, "everything I do gets a little more difficult. Even little things like eating and getting out of bed in the morning. Sometimes I wake up at night, and feel like I'm drowning from whatever's in my lungs. Laurie needs somebody healthy, and lively, who will be able to keep up with him, and who won't leave him on his own after a year or two. I'm sure he couldn't take that."

Beth leapt from her bed, and wrapped her arms around Jo as tightly as she could.

"I haven't given up yet," Jo said, as if Beth were the one who needed comforting. "I only think that I need to be more careful not to make people care for me, Laurie especially."

…,,,…,,,

It took two days before Beth could get a moment to herself. Jo had fallen ill once more, and it seemed that this time it would be worse than before. Beth had caught Marmee crying over the dishes in the kitchen earlier, and pretended to look away.

Being with Jo, and helping Jo recover, was the most important thing right now, but there was one more small matter that needed to be attended to. Beth retrieved Frank's letter where it had lay on the kitchen table, forgotten in the wake of several difficult and tumultuous days. She did not read it, but placed it carefully in her drawer among the others.

Normally Beth was not one for strong demonstrations, but seeing Jo that morning, so dizzy and weak that Beth had had to help her change out of her sweat drenched nightgown, had left Beth in need of something dramatic, if only to give vent to the day's emotions. Thus, after turning the little key that locked the drawer, Beth carried it to the window, and threw it out with all of her strength, willing it to fly so far that she never would find it.

She wouldn't go to London, and she wouldn't continue to scribble out silly thoughts to a man she barely knew. She would seek to 'uphold the family' as Jo always said, even if Beth privately thought that she had very little to offer.

…

Notes: Never mind the title, which would indicate that this thing will be only five chapters. There'll be another one soon. Now, don't you want to review, and tell me what you think?


	6. Chapter 6

The days that followed were by far the most difficult Beth had ever faced. Jo did not recover, but instead seemed to spiral downward and away from her so quickly that she had no hope of following.

It did not help that Beth was no nurse, kind and tender-hearted though she was. The feel of bone just under Jo's skin when she went to hug her frightened Beth, and when Jo began to reach the point where she was unable to take care of even the most personal matters independently, Beth was quite as embarrassed as Jo herself was. Marmee saw this, and took to giving Beth tasks outside of the sick room; Beth was grateful, but it also made her feel woefully inadequate.

"I wish you didn't have to see this as well, you know." Jo said one day, when Beth had ventured in with a glass of water, for she could never stay completely away.

Beth said nothing. She took a seat at Marmee's usual stool, but could not hold Jo's gaze.

"I tried to send you away, poor thing," Jo continued, pausing mid-sentence to struggle into a sitting position. She reached for Beth's hand, but then seemed to think better of it. "I wish that you were in England now."

"I don't want to leave," Beth said, knowing that she spoke truthfully. She moved from the chair to the edge of Jo's bed, and reached out to cup her sisters' pale cheek, only to have Jo shake her hand away.

"None of that now. If you want to help, go up to the attic and bring down my writing things."

Beth went upstairs at once, willing herself to believe that this was helping Jo somehow, if only to stop feeling like the lowest and most useless creature on Earth for a moment. Jo snatched the pen and paper away at once, and did not thank Beth. There was a fevered mania in her eyes which entirely eclipsed her usual warmth.

That was how Jo recommenced her writing, in a way that amazed Beth, for though Jo seemed capable of little else, she insisted on several hours of writing a day, and sent Beth out for stamps and things, that she might mail the shorter pieces as she finished them.

Beth was not sure whether or not so much writing was good for Jo, and from Marmee's uncertain glances, Beth guessed that she was not the only one. Together they would have made Jo as tranquil and comfortable as possible, but the spirit inside her wasting body rebelled against such things, and would allow her no rest.

Laurie was another problem. More than once Beth noticed his face in the window of his room, staring down as if to look through into their living room. Whenever she met him outside, she darted back into the house. She knew that she must face up to her mistake with him, and make amends for Jo somehow, but as Jo deteriorated, Beth felt more and more tired, raw, and unable to deal with anything. She felt some instinct to retreat from the world, as Jo came closer and closer to leaving it entirely, and found she lacked the willpower to overcome it.

It was almost a relief when Laurie put her hiding to an end by coming up behind her one day, on the way home from shopping for some food which Marmee was too busy to buy.

"Hello Beth, let me help you with that." Laurie said, lifting her basket from her arm as he passed her.

"It's not heavy."

"From what I can tell, you have more than enough burdens of late. Why not let me take this one, and add another in its stead."

"What is it?" Beth asked, thinking she could easier carry a basket full of elephants than ease Laurie's wounded heart, even though she'd been the cause of it.

"My company," Laurie said, with a bitter smile such as he'd never worn. "Or do you all hate me now, as Jo does?"

"None of us do!" Was Beth's involuntary exclamation. "Jo least of all, I think. It's so hard to tell what she feels anymore."

"If you've ever known, then you're far wiser than I. You'd think asking her would be the best way to find out, but she's better at speaking in riddles than any sphinx I've had the pleasure of meeting."

"I've always thought she says only what she thinks," Beth replied, her brow furrowing at this strange description.

"She does, and that's the worst of it. Now, for instance, she says that she 'can't' love me. Not _doesn't, _mind you, but _can't_, as she herself pointed out. Grandpa doesn't see as much hope in that as I do. He thinks I'd better sail of to Europe, and let her out of my clutches. What about you, Beth?"

Beth thought that she shouldn't give him advice again, lest it turn out as well as when she'd asked him to propose. On the other hand, she thought that there were some matters that she must not stay silent on.

"Do you want to see Jo again, even if you can't marry her?"

"If only I can see her again, I'm sure that I can convince her."

These words were said with such resolve that Beth rather thought he might be able to convince the wind itself to be his bride if he decided to do so.

"Please don't try," Beth said.

"I must, or else off to Europe, and let the devil take me there!" Said Laurie, effectively proving that for all his peeping, he had no concept of what was really going on in the March household. He had taken on the role of the scorned lover so fully as to have almost become a caricature of it, and Beth's opinion of him was only saved by the belief that he would not carry on so badly if he knew Jo's situation.

"You mustn't do anything of the sort," said Beth, with a sudden firmness which surprised her. "And if you wish to see Jo while she is still living, you won't run away to Europe, but come to see us as a good friend and nothing more."

It seemed sternness worked well with Laurie, for some of his earlier bitterness was replaced by fear.

"How bad is it?"

"Very," Beth answered. Her strength in confronting Laurie had been no façade, but it was not something she could maintain either, and her voice wavered dangerously on the word, as if she might cry.

"I'll come at once," Laurie said, and he would have, had Beth not shook her head.

"Tomorrow. She barely wants Marmee to see her. She'll like it better if we give her a day to prepare."

.;.;.;.;.;.;

Tomorrow came, and several days after that. Jo steadfastly refused to see Laurie, and Beth wondered if she should have kept quiet and let him run away to Europe after all.

There were several fights in those days. Jo had decided, somehow, that she would move to New York, never mind that she could not get out of her bed, and argued the point passionately with Marmee once or twice. Once Beth heard Marmee saying to Jo in a strained tone that was worse than a shout that she was writing herself to death.

"Better that than lie here useless for the rest of my days," was Jo's reply.

Late that night, a soft sound in the kitchen roused Beth from her bed, and she walked downstairs to find Jo up, dressed, and for some reason making sandwiches.

"… were you hungry?" Beth asked, after some moments of silent confusion. Jo turned around, putting her bony finger to her lips. Beth shuddered, thinking the scene could not look more ghastly if Jo had been a corpse already. Still, she took a shaky step forward, until she was close enough for Jo to whisper in her ear.

"Get me a basket, and say nothing," said Jo.

Not knowing what else to do, Beth complied, with the first instruction at least.

"What are you doing?"

"Settling things with Laurie," Jo replied, so darkly, that had she been a different person Beth would have guessed that she meant to poison the boy. Jo must have seen as much in her face, for she added, much more lightly, "Please don't worry Beth. It's only an idea I've had for awhile, and I'm not sure I'm brave enough to carry it out. I'll make amends with him at least, and things will be better then."

"Shall I get him for you?"

"No, better if I go alone."

Beth watched Jo. Marmee or Meg would have gathered her up, and put her to bed. Beth thought she should do this, but she could not make herself.

"Only wait a minute," Beth said, and dashed off to get Jo's coat for her, though it was a warm night. She watched through the window as Jo set off towards the Laurence house, with quick, determined steps, picnic basket in hand. She stopped once to lean against the fence separating their two gardens, the one that she had been able to jump when she was a girl. Beth had almost made up her mind to go outside to check on her by the time Jo resumed her walk. A few rocks thrown at Laurie's window, and the boy appeared at his front door, gathering Jo to him at once. Beth could not hear what was said between them, and soon she could not see them either, as they hurried off together.

Beth slept that night with her head resting in the windowsill, and woke up wondering if she'd dreamt it all, for she found Jo back in her bed come morning. Jo nodded to her, as if something significant had taken place, and didn't argue with Marmee as she helped her to breakfast.

When Laurie came over that evening. He didn't say a word, but took off his shoes, and climbed into bed besides Jo, and sat there for a time chatting on at first about how John Brooke had used to scold him for spending all his time with the Marches and not his books, and moving on to such calming topics as Ellen Tree and Jo's old horsehair pillow.

"I still have it," Jo warned.

Beth had been sitting in the room when Laurie came in, and because nobody asked her to move, she sat and listened to the whole exchange. Jo looked quite peaceful, with her head against Laurie's shoulder, and at once Beth wanted to be part of the scene. Laurie must have noticed as much, for he soon gestured for Beth to come join them on the bed.

They stayed like that until evening, Laurie speaking of old adventures, with Beth interjecting from time to time, to add bits which she remembered and he didn't. The two of them continued talking, long after Jo had fallen asleep. Beth wondered what Jo had done the night before to make this come about.

Jo lived for four days after that. She kept writing until she was quite insensible, and perhaps a little after that, from the look of her final manuscripts. Beth sat in the room as she drew her last breath, along with Marmee, Father, Meg, and Laurie. The actual death caught Beth off guard, for she had expected Jo to make a great exit speech, as the characters in her theatricals always had. Instead she stopped breathing almost seamlessly, cradled in her mother's arms as she had been on the day when she first came into the world.

If there was any drama or significance to the scene, it was played out through the living, for at Beth's first gasp Laurie held her tightly and he never _did_ fully let go from that day onwards.

;;;

Note: One more chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

Beth didn't know quite what to do with herself with Jo gone. She had thought that she would cry and cry, but she hadn't been able to at the funereal or thereafter.

"Don't go so far away from us," Meg said, grasping her hand. "I feel as if I can't touch you any longer."

It was a very strange speech, which Beth did not know quite how to answer.

Looking for closure, Beth ascended the steps to the attic one day, carrying with her an armful of Jo's favorite books, her pen and ink stand, a pair of slippers which Beth herself had made her, an odd glove, and all of the other relics she had been able to find. Four little chests sat all in a row, each with a name carved upon it. Beth ignored Amy's, Meg's, and her own, but opened up Jo's chest, her heart beating as if it were truly her sister that she was intent on locking away, and not just an assortment of meaningless objects.

A disorder of broken toys, scribbled fairy tales, and thoroughly worn clothing reigned within. Jo, Beth thought, would have looked inside and found something important to say about it. Beth only thought of how alive and vital Jo had been compared to the rest of them, and all that she should have done. Beth could imagine thousands of futures for Jo, each more exciting than the last. It was strange, for she could not imagine anything for herself. Beth had never thought about what she would be when she grew up, or made plans for the future, and here she was an adult, without the one person who had been able to drive her forward.

Beth remained seated on the floor of the attic for several hours that day, until it came time to go help Marmee prepare dinner.

Laurie took to inviting her along whenever he went out, and Beth always accepted.

"Grandfather has me slaving away already at the business," he said one day. He was leading Beth over a stone path across the creek, which she never would have dreamed of trying to cross usually. Meg and Amy, she knew, would have refused such a journey outright, for it could not be made without getting the hem of her dress wet, and making a mess of her shoes. Beth found that she did not mind that much, as long as he continued speaking to her.

"I fancy he doesn't know what else to do with me. He's said often enough that I might go to Europe if I choose, but that failing I _must_ work. He won't have a grandson loafing about the house, playing the piano all day."

"You can play at our house, if you like," Beth offered, remembering how Grandfather Laurence did not like Laurie's music.

"Your house feels haunted these days. I don't know how you bear it."

"I wish it was," Beth sighed. Lately she had begun to think that she wanted Jo back in any form. Her guilt for shrinking away from her so when she was sick had not abated, and she'd often prayed and promised that she would be able to take anything, if only she might have Jo back.

Laurie took her hand, as if to keep her from slipping as she reached the riverbed, though her footing had been firm up to that point.

He did come over that night. He was charming and kind to Marmee, helped with washing the dishes, and spent a good hour playing away at Beth's piano, touching the keys with a passion which was unlike Beth's usual tender delicacy. She had thought, once of asking him to play duets with her, but now she thought their styles poorly matched.

"Do you miss Jo terribly right now?" She asked, when he had finished.

"Yes."

It was a single word, but it spoke volumes. He gathered Beth into his arms when she came forward, thinking to comfort him. The kiss that he planted on the top of her head before leaving for the evening felt misplaced.

;.;.;.;.;;.;.;.

"We could marry," Laurie said, some weeks later, sitting with Beth in the clearing where the girls had once held their "Busy Bee Society" and built castles in the air. Laurie, far from obeying the rules, was lounging idly. Beth was making a daisy chain, but hardly thought herself any better, for it was a child's game, and not a woman's work.

"What?" Beth asked, concentrating on the stems that she was looping together, and half hoping he would go back on what he had just said if she pretended not to hear.

"I want to see Paris again, and Rome," he said, stopping Beth's hand so that she had to look at him. "And I never meant to make the trip by myself. Won't you come with me?"

"As your wife?" Beth asked slowly. Laurie was watching her with nothing of the desperation he must have felt towards Jo, and Beth was glad of it, for the thought of having an ardent lover frightened her. There was also something fragile and fond about him, which she did not like to disappoint.

"Would we be abroad very long?" Beth asked, thinking at once of Marmee and Father, and wondering if she ought to leave them alone.

"However long you wanted. We could see Amy, if you like. It must be difficult for her, being so far away at a time like this."

The last few words were wisely chosen by Laurie, and showed that he understood something about Beth, who nodded.

"Let's do that, then, if you're very sure."

;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.

Their wedding was a pleasant, pretty affair, but Beth did not think it as joyous as Meg's had been. But then, how could it be, with one member of the family missing? Beth wore her bridal gown tranquilly and well, and could not doubt that Laurie made a handsome picture in his suit and tie. There was nothing overwhelming about the moment when Laurie kissed her lips for the first time, but Beth thought that she liked it well enough.

They did not sleep the first night of their honeymoon, because Laurie seemed unable to climb into bed besides Beth, and instead pulled her out of it, and spent a great portion of the evening teaching her how to play cards. Beth, having nothing to compare things to, was satisfied if a little groggy the next morning.

Jo had left many of her manuscripts behind, instructing Beth to keep of the tradition of publishing them for her, and make money for the family that way. Her hand had been feeble towards the end, and after one publisher deemed one of Jo's poems illegible, Beth took to re-transcribing her sister's works in her own neat hand.

A few weeks into her marriage, Beth found a story that gave her much comfort. It told tales of herself and her sisters as children, and instead of simply copying it, Beth read the first several chapters over and over again, feeling close to family and happiness once more. Everything was there, including much that she had forgotten. This was the story which, above all others, Beth wanted to see bound as a book that she might keep close to her forever.

The only problem was that it had no ending. The last paragraphs dealt with Louisa, the sister who Jo had modeled after herself, and read simply:

_It was after much deliberation that Louisa decided that she would rise, and for once not hide from the romance she had started up as an unknowing child, and the damage she had caused. If she could not make her Laddie happy in any other way, at least she would give him the goodbye that he deserved, and be sure that at least one person remembered her as something other than an invalid. _

_She was peaceful all day, storing up strength for what she meant to do that night. She had not left her bed for several days, but so determined was she, that it never crossed her mind that_

The story stopped there, mid-sentence, in a way that maddened Beth. She showed it to Laurie, who went very quiet upon reading it.

"I want to finish it," She said. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"We had a picnic," Laurie said, but he looked far away, and Beth could not believe it was the entire story. She did not ask more, but was more silent than usual in the days that followed, and more attentive to her husband, guessing correctly that he wanted to talk about things but didn't know where to start.

"Who do you love most, Jo or myself?" He finally asked one morning over breakfast. It was a simple question, but very easy to answer.

"Jo," Beth said . "And I know you love her more than you do me as well, so please don't worry about that."

"I slept with Jo that night," he said, more significantly than Beth thought the admission warranted.

"I imagine she was tired."

Laurie made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a grown at that, and Beth flushed, remembering some of the things that Meg had said about men, and how babies came about, while helping her into her bridal gown.

"Oh," Beth said.

Laurie took her hand at that, saying in a tone of disbelief, "You're not angry at all are you?"

Beth shook her head.

"Most woman would be. They'd leave right now, in fact."

"Perhaps I'm not as like most women as I think."

"No," Laurie said, touching her cheek almost tenderly. "You inhabit a world all your own, and I like you all the better for it."

"What you did with Jo,' Beth asked, after some thought, "Does that mean that the two of us can't have children?"

"Do you want children?"

"I think so. Yes."

"We'll have them, then," Laurie said, brightening at the prospect. "We'll be a family then, won't we Beth?"

Beth did not answer, but smiled at him from across the table.

;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.;.

Beth picked up Jo's story several times after that, with the intent of completing it. She was not a writer, and never could be, but she felt a great deal of her heart, as well as the heart of the author was in that tale. She made several false starts, but it was not till she was large with her first child that she finally decided what she would do.

She could not embellish and take refuge in fiction as Jo once had, but she could write the truth, and that she did, attaching the following note to the end of the story:

_Josephine March could not finish writing this. She died after a long struggle, leaving behind her a loving family to mourn for her loss. I will tell you that Jo and Louisa are one in the same, and let you draw your own sad conclusions. May married her Frank in London, and lives very happily there. If she is reading this, then she must know that we all wish she would come home from Concord for a visit. Anne and John are as happy as a couple can be, and the babies are growing bigger every day, and getting on wonderfully. I apologize if this disappoints the romantic reader, but Laddie is married to Lizzie, and they both get on pretty well. They live in a large house with a piano, and three cats, and are expecting a child any day now. _

_- Elizabeth March, April, 1853_

With that Beth put down her pen, folded the pages, and sent Jo's little book off into the world to seek its fortune.

;;.;.;.

Notes: And that's the end! If you've read this story from start to finish, it would make me very happy if you could review and let me know.

On a side note, there are lots of would be scenes between Jo and Laurie, which are left out because the narrator doesn't get to see them. I have to admit that the Jo/Laurie scenes in this 'verse are the sort of thing I'd much rather read than write. Therefore, if anyone would like to write them, I'm putting the concept up for grabs. Just let me know.

Some credit has to go to Mariagoner, who originally suggested the idea of Jo catching scarlet fever instead of Beth, as a plot device to get Jo and Laurie married at a very young age (the fact that they don't marry in this story just goes to show what a failure I am as a shipper). 


End file.
